


She is brightest on her throne

by Madame



Category: Snow White and the Huntsman (2012), The Huntsman: Winter's War (2016)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 16:44:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6618397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madame/pseuds/Madame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You were supposed to consume her, supposed to take everything she had, use her beauty and youth till there was nothing left.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She is brightest on her throne

What happened?

You were supposed to consume her, supposed to take everything she had, use her beauty and youth till there was nothing left. Her lips were supposed to wither in an instant, her cries spilling out from behind them as you drained every last ounce of colour from them. You are not supposed to lie here next to her as she leaves kisses along your shoulder. Her light was supposed to sustain you from the inside out not radiate down on you as she takes you head in her hands and presses her blood red mouth against yours until you cannot breathe.

Her hands should be bones right now, rotting in the earth, instead they are tracing patterns on your hips in the golden evening light and her breath is dancing across your collarbones. She is tucked against your side, your arms are around her waist and it feels as though you have cut down a piece of the sun and encased it within a body.

She is brightest on her throne where she listens and takes council. She should be a corpse in the earth, not ruling your kingdom and asking your advice on taxes. Why is she still alive? why when you reach for her throat do you kiss her not grip her neck with your fingers and squeeze every last drop of life from her? Why does she not fear your touch across her wrists or your presence behind her back? Why does she melt into your hands and sigh when you draw your lips across the nape of her neck? She should be scared of you, she should tremble in your presence from fear not because you’re been between her legs and she is gasping for release.

Her light blinds you constantly and your eyes can never adjust as she shines brighter and brighter with each passing day, forcing the world to be illuminated, casting out every shadow in the land, piecing every coven, every hideaway until nothing dark can survive for it is burnt to dust in her light. You know you are not immune to her illumination, you never have been, it often feels as though slowly, slowly she is dissolving you and you are being forced to evolve into something that can stand her light.

You imagine her a ghost at times when she picks apart your braids, her touch is light, and almost feels like spectral fingers. She removes your crown (it is no longer heavy and brutal, it is a circlet of the finest woven gold and it does not leave bruises on your temples) and carefully unwraps each tie and pin as if you might break if she pulls too hard. You nearly smile at this thought, as if she could harm you, but you remember you were supposed to crush as soon as you met her, instead she is alive and humming softly behind you, her hands on your skull, inches from your neck and you are not putting up a fight, in fact you allow it, you almost crave it.

Sometimes your new form is foreign to you, your skin does not feel tight, does not feel as though you would burst out of it if you raged and screamed at the world for its role in creating you. Snow presses soft kisses to your temple when all you can do is cave under everything that you were immune to in your old skin, that has been threatening to come for you since you were forced to grow it. This skin is softer, more permeable and it lets in all the things you avoided since you started taking kingdoms, the deaths, the destruction and the loss, but it lets in the smiles that Snow gives you across dinner tables, it lets in the space that she always leaves for you in bed, it lets in the hand that she has around yours under the high table as she negotiates peace, the shoulder that presses against yours when she shares a bench with you in the grounds and you feel, maybe, this new skin is bearable.

You still can’t help but think of what her bones would look like down the the earth when the whites of her knuckles show against bedsheets. They look so eager to push through her skin but you think maybe, perhaps it might be a shame for them to appear so soon, the skin is still soft, perhaps when it is thinner, and more lined, the bones could see the sun. When her knuckles relax you kiss them and she cups your face and you think, yes, there is still plenty of life in her, let the bones see the world after it has left.

You find later that she took your black and steel heart that once you had so rigidly locked under your old armor. You did not know how to secure it down beneath your new skin and she reached for it so gently and picked it out so softly you never noticed until it sat just beneath her collarbone next to her own. She never uses it against you, never hurts you with it she just keeps it safe within her own chest and gently, gently softens its cold shell and lets it breathe again.

  


**Author's Note:**

> with the previous freya/sara and this one this is the quickest amount of fic I've ever written tbh, but that film deserves it lbr.  
> anyway yeah i also draw them loads on tumblr so check me out http://hattersarts.tumblr.com/tagged/huntsman


End file.
